


Notice the Bumblebee

by azla



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, triggering content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1822444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azla/pseuds/azla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a while, the Doctor notices certain oddities in Donna's behavior. Like how she always does the dishes and never truly talks about herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I find Donna quite difficult to write, especially how she talks. Might have something to do with me as a writer or it might because I'm not a native English speaker. Either way, I need the practice.
> 
> * * *

The Doctor thought nothing of it at first.

This incarnation was a particularly tactile one, but he had not always been so and thus was aware that other people might have different boundaries. He was not offended by it, even though he didn’t like to reign in this body’s natural impulses to pat someone on the back, hug them or grasp their hand.

But Donna made it absolutely clear from the beginning that she didn’t appreciate alien hands on her and don’t you forget it, Spaceman. And the Doctor might have a bit of trouble with the concept of personal space sometimes, but he always tried to respect his companions’ wishes, especially when they were so…forcefully stated.

And he truly didn’t think much about it. Donna had no trouble expressing her opinions openly (no matter if they were good or bad) so he just shrugged and went about his way.

They did get along fabulously, in any case. They both protested loudly when people mistook them for married or a couple, but it was all in jolly good fun and they would laugh about in the kitchen later, over a cup of tea and some chocolate Hob-Nobs.

But after a while, he couldn’t help but notice certain oddities about Donna’s behavior. She was always loud, brash and sometimes even annoying, but she never really talked about herself. Since the Doctor wasn’t too fond of domestic situations in any case, it didn’t bother him. Much. But Donna talked, talked and talked, much like himself, but… He realized after a few weeks he knew very little about her. Oh, he knew all about her all-time favorite Bachelor was and which line in Pretty Woman always made her cry, but not more than that. He had met her grandfather, and her parents, but she didn’t much talk about them. Her Gramps, she’d mention in passing but her mother and father not at all.

She might complain when he left teacups all over the console room, but she cleaned them up without fail. And did the washing up after dinner. And kept the kitchen stocked.

He was a genius, after all, and occasionally quite perceptive. Certain things stuck out.

Like what he discovered a few weeks after Donna had found him a second time. She usually excused herself and went to bed rather early, as was wont with humans. The Doctor would busy himself with the TARDIS while she slept, and they would see each other in the morning over scrambled eggs (for Donna), toast with marmalade (for him) and tea (for both of them) and that was it. He usually never went close to Donna’s room. He had no reason to. One night, however, he’d needed an extra temporal solenoid he knew he had seen a few regenerations ago in a cupboard usually located close to Donna’s room. As he came down that corridor, he thought he heard a noise. He stopped, listened, and shrugged when the corridor remained quiet. The Doctor started walking again and as the sound of his trainers echoed across the TARDIS, he heard it again. A gasp, a wheezing of air hastily expelled from a pair of human lungs. A sharp intake of breath, whistling between teeth. He stopped again. As he sharpened his hearing, he thought he could detect heavy breathing. Took another couple of steps. The same gasp, a little louder this time. The sharp tang of human perspiration hit his nostrils. He was now quite close to Donna’s bedroom door and could sense her standing beside it, close to the wall. He turned towards the wall, mirroring what he thought was her position. All was quiet, except for the faint hum of the TARDIS and the rapid breaths from the other side of the wall.

The Doctor closed his eyes, shifting from one foot to another, waiting.

Nothing happened.

Rubbing his neck vigorously, the Doctor hesitantly took a step towards Donna’s door, but courage failed him and he turned around and raced back towards the console room. Whatever it was, Donna wouldn’t appreciate him butting in. She was a grown woman; she could take care of herself. No need for him to get involved. No complications, no sir, he did not want that..

DWDW

They landed on Hyldroxi on a glorious Saturday morning (well, their equivalent, at least) and the Doctor was nearly bursting with excitement. He had looked forward to seeing the Floating Gardens there for a long time, and Donna was sure to enjoy the beauty of the city and its inhabitants. The city-planet with its tall, slim, azure-skinned humanoids was one of the unknown jewels of the Universe, as far as the Doctor was concerned. Why more tourists didn’t come there… Well, less crowds for him and Donna..

As they strolled along the streets, the Doctor took a deep breath and savored the magnificence of the beautiful people, beautiful architecture, beautiful weather… Beautiful everything, really. He excitedly pointed this out to Donna, who nodded and smiled at him.

He told her all about how the climate and certain air-borne minerals gave the natives their distinctive coloring and how they were among the true connoisseurs of loveliness and it took him a while to notice that Donna was unusually quiet. He looked to the side, and thankfully she hadn’t wandered off, but her normally forceful presence was subdued. Her head was lowered, and she looked small, grey and tired.

The Doctor asked her if she wanted to return to the TARDIS, she truly looked terrible, but Donna just shook her head, all traces of color gone from her face. No matter what the Doctor said or did, he couldn’t seem to get her out of her state. He thought he even saw her cringe once, as he pointed out an especially distinctive Hyldroxian for her to admire, but she told him with some of her old energy not to gawp and couldn’t a girl get something to drink on this stupid planet?

It was only after they returned to the TARDIS and Donna had gone to bed that the Doctor thought he might have missed something.  


* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=48922>


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a while, the Doctor notices certain oddities in Donna's behavior. Like how she always does the dishes and never truly talks about herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up darker than I intended. And not as romantic. Maybe the romance will come in a sequel instead.
> 
> * * *

  
Far more worrisome was their time on Trecci-Three. Apparently, they were a bit touchy about strangers touching (Donna tried not to laugh when he said that) their sacred fountain, and to make a long story short, they had been arrested. Again. The Doctor had managed to get them out, of course, and Donna had brilliantly knocked the guards out with help from her belt and her high-heeled shoe. They raced back to the TARDIS and slammed the door shut just in time to avoid a rain of arrows, and both leaned, panting, against the console.

They grinned at each other, relief making them both giddy, and the Doctor thought he’d never had as good a friend as Donna and she was just marvelous.

And pale. She stumbled over to the jump seat and sat down heavily, and the Doctor felt a brief twinge of worry. She noticed, of course, and shook her head. All that running had worn her down, she said. A shower and a cuppa and she’d be as good as new.

With practiced hands, and without a single use of the mallet, the Doctor sent the TARDIS spinning into the Vortex while Donna watched. Afterwards, she got up and slowly exited the room.

He found her later in the kitchen, head propped against her arms on the table. At first, he thought she was sleeping, but she started when he entered, and for a second, panicked blue eyes met confused brown before she looked away. This time, however, he noticed what she obviously didn’t want him to.

It hadn’t been just surprise in her gaze, but pain. Gently, he sat down across the table from her. She made a move to get up, mumbling about getting him a bacon sandwich, but dropped back down into the chair when he stopped her with an outstretched palm.

It took almost an hour of convincing, persuasion and wheedling, but she finally admitted to being in pain after what she called a few knocks from the prison guards. He demanded to know why she hadn’t told him she had been hurt, but she shrugged, looking uncomfortable, and trailed off on a sentence about not wanting to bother him.

However, no amount of coaxing could convince Donna to come with him to the med bay to get checked up, and in fact just ended with blistering ears for him after she accused him of wanting to get her naked.

She moved gingerly for a few days afterwards and was careful to wear long-sleeved shirts. Once or twice, the Doctor thought he glimpsed shadows of bruises on her arms where the sleeves rode up.

He kicked a coral struts after one such time and despondently wondered if there had been other times she had been hurt and refused to tell him.

DWDWDW

They had brilliant times too. Saving the Ood, Donna bringing down the Sontarans, meeting Agatha Christie… They tasted the silver fruits of Choa-Choa, deposed the Princess Regent of Lomaeng and rescued the last Rukh’s egg from a giant Cuckoo. The last adventure involved several not so pleasant fluids that took hours getting out of their clothes and hair.

Donna reminded him to eat, sleep and most importantly, to laugh. The Doctor was not sure exactly how she did it, but somehow she saw through him like he was rice paper, and when the morose moods hit him, before he knew it, he was tucked in the library under a blanket with a cuppa and Donna complaining loudly at the behavior of characters in Coronation Street. Always at her insistence that she needed to relax and he should respect that, but he knew better. It wasn’t for her sake but for his.

When she threw her head back and laughed heartily at a bad joke and her red hair rippled down her back, he thought he should like to kiss her. Just… Just to try it.

DWDWDW

He might have thought nothing of her behavior at first, but he certainly didn’t anymore. Too many things stuck out in his mind for him to ignore it. The Doctor thought to bring it up with Donna, but he didn’t have an opportunity before fate intervened and took the chance from him.

They had landed on Saelsyin, inhabited by a sort of crossover between humans and colorful birds, which had led Donna to nickname them ‘canaries’. They strolled down another street, lined with market stalls and bustling with life, color and spices. Before he could stop her, Donna reached out to touch the magnificent golden feathers of a male in purple robes, unaware that this indicated he was of the priest caste and thus untouchable.

It all went downhill from there. Donna was arrested, taken away before the Doctor could pull out the psychic paper and talk her out of it. The endless bureaucratic procedures of the Saelsynic court system, with off-worlders ranking as the lowest caste of all, meant it took more than three days (three days, fourteen hours, 43 minutes and twelve seconds) before he could bribe the right official.

He was led into dark, damp corridors, low underground (the cruelest punishment of all for an avian race), and finally into a small cell. Donna was curled in a corner, her vibrant hair matted with sweat and dirt. She made herself as small as possible against the sudden light, hiding her face against her knees. He spoke her name, several times, but without any reply. In the end, he crouched down in front of her, his hands held out, palms facing upwards, and spoke as if to a small child.

“Donna?”

Her pale face rose a few inches, and his stomach clenched at the look in her eyes.

“I thought you wouldn’t come.”

She said it in such a matter of fact way, calm and so utterly, heart-breakingly, devoid of emotion that he couldn’t think of anything to say in reply. He just reached out and took her hands in his, trying not to squeeze them too hard.

She refused to be carried back to the TARDIS but walked slowly and painfully beside him, head bowed and lips cinched. This time, however, he wouldn’t let her slip away to her room, but took her, despite her protests, to the med bay. She vehemently said no to sedation, though, and eyed him suspiciously as he gathered clean cloths, warm water, hyposprays and bandages.

She also wouldn’t tell him exactly what had transpired during her three days in captivity, but the marks on her skin told the story for her, in as many words.

She had two hairline fractures on her ribs.

A bruised hipbone.

A black eye.

Fractured cheekbone.

Her hair was torn out in places and her scalp was bloody.

23 bruises and lacerations in different sizes on various places on her body, including her breasts and thighs.

And a scar on her right wrist. An old scar.

The Doctor ran his thumb gently over it, trying to determine its cause. “It was broken. Bone went right through the skin.”

Donna swallowed, obviously coming to some sort of conclusion. “It’s the only one still visible.”

He thought he understood then. Of course he did. He who had seen so much of the Universe. But he needed to hear her say it. Wordlessly, he cradled her wrist in his hands and slowly, gently, pressed his lips to the scar.

The worlds tumbled out of her after that. The usual story, told in so many different versions in so many different worlds.

Her mother, a constant critic. Her distant father. The feeling of always being different and never good enough. The string of boys and later men she had tried so desperately to please, so that she could be loved. Deserve to be loved. How they had cheated on her, and left her and used her. The final relationship, which started out so well and ended so badly. How the soft words had turned into harsh ones. The isolation, the violence and the pain. How he had gone from giving her flowers to throwing glasses at her head. How she had forgiven him, time and again.

How she finally got out. Made a life for herself again. Got a job, even if it was just as a temp. How stupid her mother thought her for not seeing it sooner while at the same time telling her it was just typical, she’d never find a nice man, not now. Damaged goods.

The last-chance wedding with Lance. How terrified she had been. How nice he had been. How he never pushed her for sex. Even if it was just because he thought her disgusting, as he had said in front of the Queen of the Racnoss, she still thought it a relief.

And she spoke of meeting him. Of starting to believe in herself again. And of how afraid she still was, that she would be wrong. That she had misjudged him. That he really thought her stupid, slow, disgusting, ugly… How she had tried not to be a bother, not be in the way, or inconvenient. How she had kept expecting him to ask for ‘payment’, because it was the only use men had for her. How convinced she had been that he had left her to rot when she was arrested.

But he had come, and as she said that, her eyes glittered like sapphires through the tears.

DWDWDW

She slept, afterwards, her body exhausted and her mind drained.

The Doctor hadn’t let go of her hand once. He held vigil, eventually falling asleep himself, his forehead leaning against their joined hands.

Against Donna Noble’s hand. Brilliant, strong, wonderful, beautiful Donna Noble.

* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=48922>


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a while, the Doctor notices certain oddities in Donna's behavior. Like how she always does the dishes and never truly talks about herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an epilogue in me too. I didn't intend to, but well. It's short and sweet.
> 
> * * *

  
Things change after Donna’s confession, and they don’t. They still save planets, argue over who ate the last biscuit and laugh uproariously at Monty Python, even the bad sketches.

But one day, after dinner, Donna leans back in her chair, legs stretched out in front of her, and casually tells him that isn’t it about time you did the dishes, Spaceman? Only a slight stiffness in her lips and the arrogant throw of her head reveals how much the simple sentence costs her.

The Doctor is stunned for a few seconds, then grins at her. He has never been happier to do dishes in all of his lives.

As she sits there, watching him juggle plates and glasses, looking content in soft, washed-out sweatpants and a pink cardigan, he wonders if he has ever seen a lovelier woman.

The Doctor blushes. Better not think things like that.

Only that they keep cropping up, like when they are running and she wriggles her fingers at him for him to grasp, the first time she is the one to suggest it.

When she hugs him goodnight, holding on a second too long and smirks slightly as he blushes.

And the thoughts definitely come when she grabs him by the lapels after he has just completed a frankly marvelous bit of flying and kisses him.

And kissing Donna Noble is as brilliant as everything else about her is. As everything else about their life together is. It just makes sense that they do this thing brilliantly too.

He is hesitant though, not wanting to be like the others, but then she says the most beautiful thing and he thinks he might be regenerating because there’s a golden fire in his bloodstream and Donna’s hands are touching him, eager and confident and self-assured.

“I want to. I trust you.”  


* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=48922>


End file.
